Disclaimer: ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

Summary:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

Eddard

The gardens of King's Landing didn't seem so treacherous during the day, and they wouldn't have were he not leaning on a cane to support himself. He was still Hand of the King, but the Lannisters didn't seem to care about that. They had always been a blessed House, and it seems that if any House got any closer to unraveling that power, it was destroyed. The Stark House was just as old, and just as powerful, perhaps not with gold, but with honor, and loyalty, and the North. But for today, he would try to think not of it and see his girls play.

Sansa would have loved King's Landing had everything not been so spoiled for her. But Prince Joffrey, apparently, had done his best to make amends for what had happened, and had even given Sansa a Lannister lion necklace. He hadn't thought of how he'd feel of his daughter wearing Lannister gold, rather than the Baratheon crown. But it seemed that Joffrey was a Lannister through-and-through, like his mother, the Queen. Sansa was like her mother, very much so, with that beautiful red hair and those blue Tully eyes. They both took after their Lady mothers, Joffrey and Sansa, and it almost might have seemed fitting were Joffrey not a madder, quite dafter version of Cersei. The boy was not ready to be King. Robert knew that, Ned wagered, and perhaps that's why he had now brought the boy with him on the Hunt, much to the Queen's chagrin.

Ned watched Arya and Sansa play in the garden. Sansa was blindfolded and Arya ran around her, giggling madly, running around and trying to keep away. They both were far away from the troubles of the world, and it was the way that Ned wanted it. Syrio poured him a drink, which Ned politely refused, only because he felt like keeping his wits a bit sharper than he usually would.

"You are troubled, old friend?" asked Syrio. "You are right to be troubled."

"I'm afraid Dancing won't do much for this kind of trouble," japed Ned with a laugh. Syrio smiled.

"We love them," he said, looking out to his little she-cubs. "We love them so much, and we want only the world for them. And when they get older, we realize that the world is no place for our children. The world is cruel, and hard, and unjust. But, it is sad, for the time we realize it, they are too old to allow us to protect them anymore."

"Aye, they grow fast..." Lord Stark thumbed the letter from his son awkwardly in his hand. Syrio drank some of the wine, and said a few things in Braavosi about it, and then turned to him.

"I see now why you have so many children, Lord Stark," said the little man. "When one leaves, you have many more to keep you company." He laughed, as did Lord Stark. He put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Cadenzsa went once to Volantis by herself. I was only apart from her for six months. It was agony, but I was still First Sword of Braavos then, so I was distracted. Now that I am a humble tutor, I miss her dearly." He sighed. "When she was growing up, she was my shadow. I took her everywhere, and she never wanted to do anything without me. Then, when she was nine, she started walking around the Palace by herself, and then... Ever since then, she has been ferociously independent. I learned then that I was the one who never wanted to do anything without her."

"Serrah, forgive me if I intrude on your affairs," began Ned, "but why is it that you only had Cadenzsa? She did wonderfully with all five of my children. Why not let her have a brother or sister or two?"

The Braavosi sighed through his nose and looked up to the sky, far across the horizon over the Royal Keep's walls. "To know that story would be to know my wife. She has always been a very...stubborn woman. But stubborn in her own way; a quiet way, a woman's way, one might say. She and I were not on good feet when I left to retrieve my brother's wife from Lorath, after a wedding of her cousin. I love my brother, but he was ill, so I go to see my good-sister escorted back home. Cadenzsa was not yet ready to be born, so I think it is fine. My wife is only seven months fat then." He drank. Lord Stark decided to drink with him. "I come back to Braavos with my good-sister, and I find out that my wife is there at the Isle of Flowers, and has just given into the light with my little girl, and dying."

There was a pause of shock. "Serrah, I had no idea."

"Be not dis-heart, she is well now. Alive and well and pretty as a flower. But at the time, she was very sick. All the water had been pierced out of her from Cadenzsa coming too soon. Thankfully we had the best healers in Essos. And my wife lived, as did my Cadenzsa. But the birthing was hard on her. Vanessi, my wife, was never built for work, you could say. She was built to be a Lady, to host grand masques and hold parties, and to charm and wit everyone. She was never strong. Cadenzsa was strong from since before she drew her first breath, and so strong was she and so wanting to break into the world, she clawed her way out of my wife's womb the very second she could. She tore her way out, leaving my wife bleeding open on our feather bed, near-to-death. We could never have children again. She had many cousins, to keep her company, of course, until we moved into the Sealord's Palace. When she would ask me why it was she never had a brother or sister to play with, I always just told her that why would I need another child when we had the perfect one already."

Lord Stark laughed, in spite of everything. He then turned to his old friend and held up the raven he'd gotten from Robb. "This came from my son yester-evening. I must tell you, it came as a shock to me." He handed the Braavosi the parchment scroll. "I spoken with the King on account of wedding Sansa instead to Theon Greyjoy, in hopes of brokering an alliance with his House, and bringing the Iron Islands back into the Realm. Perhaps Sansa can someday become a Queen of the Iron Islands, should it come to that. Both Robb and Greyjoy have written back saying that Robb would rather offer himself to the Greyjoys and wed Theon's elder sister, if it means Theon can then wed Cadenzsa instead."

The Dancing Master looked up from the letter after a long time. "I am not shocked at this. I had never seen Cadenzsa so sad before." He sighed. "I thought that it was because of her missing home. And then I think that it is from your eldest boy, Robb."

He shook his head. "I tried to keep them away from each other," confessed Lord Stark. "I knew you had plans for her elsewhere." He sighed. "Robb was rather sad when she left. I didn't even think that Greyjoy would fall in love with her."

"When love is fallen into, do we think it will happen? Do we plan it?"

"A question for the philosophers, I'm afraid."

There was a long silence between them. Syrio looked back at the letter again. Ned hoped that he would day yes to the proposal just as much as he wished he would say no.

"If it is True love, then we should want our children to be happy. But it cannot be, for it is too late. Had you come to me a month before, I might have considered it. The boy could be kept with us in Braavos, even, while we wait for his father to die... Or I could just kill his father and then he becomes Lord. But too late. Cadenzsa is gone with my wife to Dorne. She'll be a Martell soon. Probably before the year is up. I cannot insult the Martells so. They, too, are old friends of the Forels. And Cadenzsa..." He sighed. "I have warned her for her life-time to be wary of the Iron Islands. The Ironmen are fearsome and dangerous men, savage in their Old Ways. My blade has tasted an Ironman's heart, only to find they are simply bags of skin and bone and water. Perhaps this Greyjoy boy is different from his father, I am wondering. Not that it would make a difference, now. It is too late."

Ned understood, but he also did not. Greyjoy had been a good Ward, and he tried to play the father to the boy when he could. He had an easy laugh, and was loyal to them during his ten-year-stay at Winterfell. Ned had done it to save the boy's life, for it wasn't a child's fault that his father rose in rebellion, and he wanted to give the boy a chance at a better future. Sansa had the future of a Queen should Lord Stark allow it, but she was also a key to the North, being his second-born child and firstborn girl. She deserved to marry a man that was honorable, and brave, and good-of-heart when she came of age. She was such a baby to him, still, no matter how tall she grew. If Ned were to break the alliance with House Baratheon, Sansa would be furious, and have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, back to the North. It was a father's job to see his children happy, wasn't it.

"Sansa dislikes the gold-head Prince?" Syrio asked just then.

The Lord of Winterfell shook his head. "She's in love with the boy."

Syrio hooted. "How can she know of love yet? She's a child! Love is for a man and woman, not a little girl and crawling baby boy, still at his mother's skirt."

"Even so," said Lord Stark solemnly. "I could never cause Sansa unhappiness. She is such a good daughter. She deserves to be happy. She wants out of Winterfell. It's a father's duty to see his children happy."

The Braavosi put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head with a laughing grin. "My friend, Lord Eddard, I must tell you that you are wrong. It is a father's duty to see his children grow up to be good and strong men and women. Raising happy children will do nothing but raise shit-headed spoiled, whining, mewling blaggards. The world is a hard place, and nobody gets everything they want, when they want it. Nobody. The only thing you are given freely in this world is a chance to try."

"Are you so craven?"

"Not at all, my friend! But if I had a gold dragon for every time Cadenzsa cursed me, I'd be a very rich man indeed. Look at her now. She's a woman grown, and free, of course, to make her own choices now. And I can leave her knowing that what ever she does, she will be fine. Can you leave Sansa and think that what ever she does, she will be fine? No? Perhaps it is because she has not enough hurts. Hurts are lessons. Lessons make you a better person. From a little pain and a little hardship, comes a stronger man."

"She's just a little girl, not a man."

"And little girls do what their fathers tell them to do. If you tell her she will go back to the North, what can she really do to you to tell you no? Put you to the sword? The worst thing she can do is say 'no.'" He poured more wine. "You are her father. She'll love you no matter what you do. Just say to her 'You will understand when you are older.'"

Ned scoffed, trying to lighten his mood. "Does that really work?"

Syrio shrugged. "It didn't not work..." They shared another laugh. "May I tell you something?" Ned nodded. "I wouldn't want a son. I thought I wanted a son when I was young and foolish, for I thought it might be easier, but if I had the choice to go back, I'd have my Cadenzsa again. I'd have a daughter. It is hard, I know. It is hard to let our daughters go. We shower them with love and shelter them from the world. When they cry, they run to us and us alone. We are their safe place. They fear us and love us all at once, and they behave when we tell them to, and they rebel when we think they will not. We love them so much, and we always want to sleep sound knowing that they are safe and happy. But they beg for the world, and they beg to be in it. They get older. They grow tall and pretty like their mothers. We then see men begin to look at them like we used to look at pretty girls, and we then understand why their fathers hated us so." Ned laughed out loud. "But the only things that are certain in this world is that someday, we will die, and our daughters will grow up, whether we like it or not." A beat. "But, until they are grown, tell them what to do." Ned laughed again, as did Syrio.

"Ah, Gods, what will I do, now?" sighed Ned. "I still am Hand of the King... I must offer one of my children. I can't offer Robb to Princess Myrcella," sighed Ned. "Maybe little Bran, now that he's awake... Or Arya to Prince Tommen, if she'll allow it."

Syrio laughed. "Arya-child is a wonderful girl! She would be an excellent Queen." Ned frowned. "You know, my Cadenzsa was exactly the same as her as a child."

"Rambunctious, was she?" asked Ned in an amused disbelief.

"'Was' she?" Syrio guffawed.

"I must say, I have a hard time picturing it. The girl seems so calm and mature and well-behaved."

"The best thing about learning the Water Dance? It channels that rambunctiousness into something else...so that way they are perfectly-behaved Ladies every other hour of the day. I tell Cadenzsa when she is a child: you are a sword, but you must pretend that your clothes are your sheath, and let nobody know it. Hide your ferocity, hide your strength, and hide how clever you are. Nobody will suspect that a pretty girl can be deadly."

"With respect, Serrah, Arya won't ever be a Dancing Master."

"With respect, Lord Eddard Stark, I doubt she will be a Westerosi Lady, either."

The men watched as the little wolf girls played. Lady bounded up and down and nosed at Arya's rump from behind, and Sansa seemed to become more alive with each scream and shriek and laugh that came from within her. Sweet Tully Princess, thought Ned, with his pretty daughter's red hair flowing in the wind. He couldn't have asked for two better daughters; or, rather, he could have but he wouldn't. He wouldn't ever ask for different daughters, had the Gods given him the choice. Syrio was the same way. Ned imagined that the Braavosi was growing mad without Cadenzsa at his side. He had left his three boys up in Winterfell to Hold the keep, and protect it. But, mostly, he just didn't want to be away from the side of his two little girls.

"Serrah, I must confess, I know not what to do, now."

"No father truly knows, when it comes to his daughters. He can only guess." The Braavosi sighed. "What will you do if I say 'no' to this?" he asked. "What will you do if I tell you that I cannot break the alliance with House Martell?"

Ned sighed through his nose. "Only the Gods truly know," said Ned softly. "I will tell you, Serrah, that Theon Greyjoy has been a good Ward to me. I took him into my home when I killed his brothers. They weren't much older than Robb is now, I can tell you. The way that poor boy looked at me when we tore him from his mother's arms and took him to Westeros will be with me forever. I fostered the boy in hopes that he would grow strong and wise, a better man than his father. The boy is honorable, and a proven warrior. He would make a good husband for Cadenzsa, and I know he would do what he could to be loyal to her, and provide for her, and see that she is happy. Greyjoy has always had a talent for making those around him smile; he even called his horse Smiler."

"I know you are fond of the boy, Lord Eddard Stark," said the Braavosi. "So fond of him you are, that you are will to give your eldest girl to him. You are willing to make that alliance in the Iron Islands, in exchange for your other daughter? Or your son? Is royalty so good for House Stark? I am wondering once, were the Starks not Kings in their own right?"

The question made Ned pause. Aye, the Starks were once Kings in the North, long, long ago. They made giants kneel to them, and they built the wall. Ned knew his history, as all Lords of Winterfell knew it.

"This one must ask forgiveness, my friend," said Syrio. "This one loves his daughter, for she is the best of his life." He smiled. "I cannot give Cadenzsa to a broken House," he said. "The Greyjoy House is broken by war. How can I think to send my only precious girl off to them when the Martells will give a much better life to her? And I know not the boy's father, except his name, against which I fought. And the Iron Islands is no place for my Cadenzsa to be, for theirs are Gods of death, it is true, but theirs is a way of slavery, of savagery. I am wondering why you would send sweet Sansa to such a hard place as this to live the rest of her days, when she has not picked up a sword in her life." He sighed. "Cadenzsa must never know about this," he said. "Were she to get wind that he wanted her with him, not a thing in the world could ever stop her. And the Martells are too good of a thing for her. It is the best she can hope for, and the best I can give for her safety. I am sorry, my old friend, but I must refuse this offer. I will write to the boy, of course, for if he is as good-hearted as you say he is, he deserves to hear it."

Ned held his head. "Would that I could, I would call this whole thing off and go back to Winterfell. I know that Robert is my friend, and he is doing his best with his Lannister-borne boy Prince..." He stifled a sigh. "I will write Greyjoy myself and tell him your answer, Serrah. The boy deserves to hear it from me. Cadenzsa mustn't ever know." He took the letter that Greyjoy had written to Lady Forel from his pocket and crumpled it in his hand. "I'll burn this-"

"-Wait," said the Dancing Master. "Is that what the Ironboy had written to her? Before you end it, may I?"

Ned held back. "I'd rather you didn't, Serrah. The boy poured his heart into this letter. I've never seen the likes of it from him. In truth, I wouldn't have believed it was from him were it not in his hand."

"I am her father," hissed the Braavosi. "A father should know of the root of his daughter's heartache." Syrio held his head high, and looked away. "It is a long letter, it seems. Perhaps you can read it to me, then, so one could say my eyes never saw it?"

He watched his girls tumble about in the grass. A mockingbird repeated the shrill noises playfully in one of the trees. Ned unfurled the crumpled parchment. If the shoe were on the other foot, he reckoned, he'd want Syrio to read the words to him. It was only the right thing to do; he cleared his throat and read aloud, quietly:

"'Cadenzsa,

In truth, this is an awkward way to ask for your hand in marriage, and I am grateful that I had already done so in Winterfell, for I might not have the strength to do it like this, could I not see your beautiful face. I must tell you that a proposal has come our way to bring me home to the Iron Islands, making me the reigning Lord, and I would see you come with me, as my Lady Greyjoy.

I feel I do owe an apology for not telling you of my affections sooner, for if I had, you would have stayed longer. I feel sick and empty without you. I wear your chain that hangs at my heart, where your name is written within me. I will never forget your name, and I will never forget the vows I have made to you. I solemnly swear myself to you, over and over again, and I remain yours from this day until my last day.

I will take you riding again on Smiler's back, when you come, and we can stay in Winterfell, should the arrangement take longer than expected.

My life has been made brighter by your presence, and I did not realize the loneliness that my heart held until you came. With you, I am no longer alone, and with you, I am brave, and strong, and I remain your Champion for ever. I remain yours, the Lord of your heart, for ever.

Theon.'"

Ned looked up, and Sansa was standing in front of him, her eyes wet. Before Ned could scold her for listening in on their conversation, she sobbed, and held her wet nose against her sleeve.

"It was Theon," she breathed. "Theon is Cadenzsa's True Love!" Her eyes lit with happiness. "Theon is Cadenzsa's handsome Prince? Truly, Father?" Syrio then took the letter from his hands, and tore it into a thousand tiny pieces, which scattered to the ground like so many dead leaves.

"No," said the Dancing Master flatly to his sweet Sansa, whose face then fell like a burning tower. "He is not." And then, without so much as another breath on the subject, he was gone.

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